Fr Mark Bonney
Thousands
and thousands of words were spoken and listened to in London last week – words
that I must confess to my surprise were generally quite well-mannered and
generous, and only very occasionally angry or uncharitable – after all those
words of debate and argument the words of our second reading in particular come
as a refreshing change.
Rather
than words of debate and logic that are trying to force a point home they are
words that are trying to convey the ultimately inexpressible – they are words
that paint pictures.
In
the first few chapters of Revelation John has spoken to the 7 churches of Asia
minor – and to some them in less than gentle terms – the Laodoceans for
example he has accused of being lukewarm and wishes to spew them out of his
mouth. But now he’s caught up into a vision of heaven – the imagery used
draws heavily on the first chapter of the prophet Ezekiel – flashes of
lightning, and storms, the four living creatures are to be found there, along
with mentions of semi-precious stones. This vision of heaven is very much with a
Jewish
tradition of visions of God’s presence.
The
amazing chorus line around the throne burst into antiphonal song ceaselessly
praising God. When the book of Revelation was written there were forms of ritual
and ceremonial in honour of the Emperor as a god – here John is emphasising
who is the only one who can truly be worshipped.
And
the words uttered echo the words of Isaiah’s vision in Ch6.3 words that we
utter in every Eucharist Holy, holy, holy Lord.
Goodness
knows how often we’ve said or sung those words Holy, holy holy
– and I can honestly say I have never tired of saying or singing them in the
context of the Eucharistic Prayer. There are some wonderful musical settings of
the Sanctus and when I’ve experienced them liturgically they add a
dimension that words fail to convey – that’s why we have them – that’s
why we have music! I have a perhaps rather indulgent dream of sometime hearing
the Sanctus from Verdi’s Requiem in a liturgical setting – it
wasn’t actually ever intended for that – but it would be very exciting.
What
I think I sense in those pieces of music – and what liturgy at its best does
is bring us to the edge of a mystery – to that moment of fear, wonder, shock,
amazement and astonishment that both knocks us back and draws us on. Some while
ago now a chap called Rudolph Otto wrote a book called The Idea of the Holy
and he called this the mysterium tremndam et fascinans – the tremendous
and fascinating mystery.
It
was over three years ago now that I had my sabbatical and amongst other things
went and visited some newer churches and looked at their design in relation to
contemporary liturgy – and how older buildings try to re-orientate themselves.
One church I visited was St Paul’s, Bow Common, in London
- inside although it uses rather a lot of concrete – it’s design is
now seemingly quite tame – a canopied altar with seats on three sides and the
presidential chair on the fourth side. As you come to the church from the
outside it has the words “Behold this is none other than the house of God, the
gate of heaven” carved in big letters above the entrance – some wag said
they had to do that because otherwise you wouldn’t have guessed from the
outside that this was a church – perhaps not, but the space inside had
tremendous power and atmosphere – it felt indeed to be the gate of heaven.
Getting
to church on a Sunday morning can be a mad rush and panic – not least if you
have children, or are more naturally inclined to stay in bed. In the rush and
the chaos we can easily lose sight of what we’re coming to do – that this
also is none other than the house of God, the gate of heaven – we come to
worship –the encounter with mystery and wonder.
We
might not always be in the mood for that – and sometimes our rushing around
and chatter before a service doesn’t help put us in the mood for that either
– but the liturgy itself tries to help us on the way through a little quiet,
reflection, confession before we really get going. We come to worship the one
before whom day and night without ceasing the creatures and elders sing Holy,
holy, holy.
For
the Christian holiness in the Bible reaches its climax in Jesus – he is the
cause of fear and amazement – as in today’s gospel Who then is this, that
he commands even the winds and the waves and they obey him.
In
Jesus Christ that utter holiness and glory of God becomes something not out
there and beyond – but something here with us – it can be a relief to think
that God is way out there and beyond – a little more challenging that he’s
here with us. In Jesus Christ, as the gospel of John puts it we have seen
God’s glory, full of grace and truth. In the person of Jesus –in his
Incarnation the transcendence and immanence of holiness is brought together –
in this Eucharist we taste and see how gracious the Lord – here we are at the
gate of heaven. Here we encounter the Holy One- and go out again to share that
encounter with others in a myriad acts of service and love.
And as just a little indulgence I’ll end this sermon with two and half minutes of music – like our second reading it resonates with trumpets and voices in antiphonal choirs: the Sanctus from Verdi’s Requiem.
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